


Café Papillon

by miraculousandcute (hellomyoldheart)



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: F/M, You're Welcome, and i ruined it with angst, i just really like coffee and the coffee shop au okay, they're cute and fluffy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-31
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-17 09:15:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5863351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellomyoldheart/pseuds/miraculousandcute
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coffee Shop AU: Marinette's an artist who sells her work under the pseudonym Ladybug, Adrien's a barista with a secret of his own, and these two really need to get it together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. thanks a latte

**Author's Note:**

> I started this fully intending for it to be pure fluff, but then some plot got in the way. My bad! It shouldn't be angsty for too long honestly I live for the cute. Thanks for reading!

“You know you’re gonna have to claim your work at some point, right?”

“Alya—!” Marinette threw her hands up and waved them in Alya’s face, almost smacking her in the process. Her head shook back and forth in quick motions. “Shhhh someone might hear you!”

She glanced over at a woman just entering the café—luckily, she walked by without shooting the two any weird looks. A weak sigh escaped her, and she swore she could feel her heartbeat echoing through her whole body. Marinette was good with secrets, but she was not always the best at controlling her feelings. Her double life was a pretty big trigger for freak outs. Alya’s exasperated look confirmed that.

“Girl, you are crazy paranoid. I’ve told you that before, right? Cause I’m feeling some heavy déjà vu here…” Alya stroked her chin in mock thought as Marinette threw her a scowl.

“Only every day,” she muttered. Her shoulders slumped, but then she drew her eyes back to the window in front of them. Café Papillon was painted on it in flourishing, gold letters, and her art was featured right below it. _To draw the customers in_ , Marinette thought in delight—the exact words that had been emailed to her when the café had requested her work and asked if she’d be okay with its front and center display.

Surrounded by a gold frame, darkened with age, was a painting of a little boy and a black cat. The two were small compared to the summer scenery that surrounded them, taking up most of the canvas, yet the eye was draw in by a twinkle—the gleam of a golden bell, held in the hands of the boy. The cat was draped around his shoulders, head lowered as if investigating what the boy cradled. It was a calm, soothing piece with curving lines, soft gradients, and earthy colors. Marinette had almost cried when she sent it off, but she knew this was one she had to share.

There was no stopping her dreamy sigh—she felt no shame in admiring her own work.

Alya hummed next to her and also eyed the window, a huge grin on her face. “Even though you’re a big chicken, I’m still happy your work is out there. And in Gabriel Agreste’s café to boot! That’s some sweet, sweet justice right there.”

Marinette couldn’t argue with that, but it did bring up some bad memories. “So, ready for some celebratory coffee? My treat since I begged you to come check it out with me.”

Alya rolled her eyes and grabbed Marinette by the shoulders, pulling her in for a quick hug. “Hell yeah to coffee, hell no to you paying for me. I’m always here to support you.”

Marinette nodded and buried her face in Alya’s hair, squeezing her for just a little longer. She was a happy-cry sort of person, and this was getting into dangerous I’m-so-happy-I-could-sit-right-here-and-bawl-my-eyes-out territory. But hugs were also one of her favorite things, so Marinette struggled to let go…and then café door opened once more, letting out a _delicious_ smelling breeze. The hug got even tighter as they both inhaled the scent and then broke apart laughing.

“Okay, enough of the mush. Time for coffee!” Alya held the door open for her, and Marinette grinned as she walked in. After that little tease of the aroma coming from the shop, it wasn’t hard to immediately notice how _amazing_ Café Papillon smelled. It wasn’t just coffee in the air—it was vanilla, spice, bread, and more combined to make an overwhelming concoction that Marinette could only describe as warmth. Nothing would ever compare to her parent’s bakery, but this got pretty damn close.

The floor was rich, shining wood, the décor was made up of dainty chairs spray painted in various creams and violets plus vintage-looking wooden tables, and the walls were lined with various art pieces. Her heart swelled with pride for both her art and the incredible café it was featured in. It’s amazing how well they fit even though they both featured entirely different subjects.

“How have we never been in here?” Marinette breathed, turning to Alya. Her feet did a tiny tap dance of excitement, and Alya rolled her eyes mumbling, “not the butt wiggle” before turning to give the place another look.

“I’ll admit the atmosphere in this place is amazing, but I’m not surprised since it’s run by the Agrestes. And we’ve never been here because your parents make their own delicious coffee.” She twirled Marinette around and pushed her towards the counter, still talking. “For _free_ , I might add. This coffee better be as good as your painting or we’re confiscating it immediately.”

“Nooooo, I want someone to buy it!” Marinette whined, digging in her heels to throw a pout over her shoulder. But before Alya could respond, a rug leading to the register caught Marinette’s shoe, and they shared a horrified look in the split second Marinette stood still—and then she surged forward. Suddenly, she was making close acquaintance with Café Papillon’s spotless floor; limbs spread out, impact only slightly cushioned by the rug. At least it smelled freshly cleaned. She let out a pained moan the same moment someone burst out laughing.

Wincing at the soreness in her chest, Marinette flopped over onto her back. The laughter sounded like it was coming from behind her. When she glanced at Alya, who was glaring at someone past the counter, she groaned in embarrassment. Her only saving grace was that they had picked the afternoon lull to visit, that sweet spot between lunch and dinner. At least she didn’t have a crowded café to deal with.

“I see spills every day, but yours had to be the best ever,” a voice said, and she scowled at the obvious glee the words oozed.

“Will it _really_ be the best when we complain about a rude, insensitive barista who chose to laugh at a customer rather than help her?”

Marinette dropped her head back down to the floor and closed her eyes. _Oh, god,_ _not Fight Me Alya, anything but that_ , she thought desperately. If she didn’t get off this floor soon she didn’t know if she would ever be allowed to come in here again. She pictured her and Alya’s mugshots posted on either side of her art, a bright red BANNED written across their faces.

“Whoa, calm down there, we’ve all been trained to laugh at people wiping out, I swear. There’s probably some evolution crap in there somewhere.” The voice was getting closer and Marinette glanced up right as a face popped over the counter. “You all right, miss?”

 _Hey, he has glasses like Alya’s_ , just happened to be the first thing that went through her head. Next she noticed brown skin, a long nose, and a far too pleased smirk. Marinette crossed her arms, back still plastered to floor, and glared at him.

“You should apologize,” she said.

He quirked an eyebrow. “For your clumsiness or my reaction to your clumsiness?”

“I—what—the second, dumbo!”

The barista started laughing again, and Alya finally helped her off the floor.

Marinette crouched a little to wipe off her jeans and hide her red face (there wasn’t a speck of dirt on that rug but screw it she needed a breather). A few calm breaths later, she straightened up and looked over the counter, where movement caused her to look at a worker coming from the back.

Two words _—new life—_ fluttered through her head. His eyes were a light green of spring buds, melting waters, and grass-stained clothes; eerily reminiscent of her painting. The golden gleam of his hair made it even worse. She knew art was inspired by life, but this was just ridiculous. _Oh,_ _sweet summer child_ , she thought, eyeing the perfect slope of his nose and his tanned skin. This young man was a beautiful, warm palette come to life. Also, she had definitely been staring for way too long, but he seemed to be stuck in the same position. Marinette watched as his gaze finally flicked to the left, and a scowl took over his surprise.

“Nino, are you fighting with the customers?”

With a jolt at his words, Marinette refocused on her surroundings and looked over to find Alya definitely about to fight the rude barista. Her arm was extended across the counter, one finger pointed in accusation, eyebrows dipped in anger. _Not good, not good!_ Marinette jumped over and grabbed Alya’s hand, dragging it down. “Nino” looked incredibly amused as the new barista walked over and gave him a look; eyebrows raised, mouth dragged down, and eyes narrowed.

“Yeah, yeah, we had a situation but it’s all good now. I’ll get their orders.”

“Mhm.” The barista sighed and stationed himself to the side of Nino, who had stepped up to the register.

“What can we get for you, ladies?”

“A complaint form,” Alya snapped.

“Nino, what did you _do_?” Walking Art Guy tipped his head back with a groan and shook his head while Nino gaped at Alya. _Probably surprised she won’t just give it up_ , Marinette thought. She sighed and stepped forward.

“It was an accident, really, so we won’t make a complaint.” She paused, shifting to look at Nino. “Although, you could be a bit kinder to strangers when something embarrassing happens. Especially when you’re working.”

“Damn straight.” Alya didn’t look pleased with Marinette’s words, but her rigid stance had melted a bit.

Nino sighed and gave her a small smile. “Fair enough. I’m sorry for laughing at you.”

“And I’m sorry we hired such an idiot.” The other barista patted Nino on the shoulder and ignored the death glare his coworker was sending him.

“Dude, what the he—“

“Drinks are on the house, so what’ll you have?”

Alya perked up and threw an arm around Marinette’s shoulders, shaking her a little. “Girl, you should trip over things more often! Well, in places where we might get free food out of it.”

“Alya!”

“Oh, shush, you know you’re a big klutz. I’ll have a medium americano with cream and my little accident-prone friend here will have a decaf medium hazelnut latte.”

Nino had taken a step back to cross his arms and glare at the wall, so Walking Art Guy scribbled on the cups. He glanced up at Marinette and raised a brow.

“Decaf?”

Marinette only melted a little under his green eyes. “Morning coffees are for caffeine and afternoon coffees are for taste,” she recited. Her parents had taught her that at a pretty young age.

His writing stilled as he looked at her again, and Marinette panicked. _Was that offensive to other coffee people? Did they think decaf was useless? Then why would they even make it or sell it that made no sense—_

But then he grinned, and Marinette suddenly remembered the fashion magazines she had obsessed over years ago. And where she was. And who owned this café. _Oh my god, that’s Adrien Agreste_.

“Interesting idea. What names should I put on these?”

“Marinette!” she exclaimed, face coloring at her reaction. “Um, and that’s Alya.”

He nodded and set the cups aside. “If you’d like to take a seat, I’ll have these out in just a few minutes.”

“Right, thanks, we’ll be over here.” She’s pretty sure some of those words mixed together in her haste to get away as she latched onto Alya’s arm and dragged her over to a table.

“Oh my god, that’s Adrien Agreste,” she hissed as soon as Alya’s butt hit the chair.

“Wait, what?” Alya gaped at her before whipping around. Marinette had already gone through the process, so she could guess what was happening in her head.

Adrien Agreste, son and model of the one and only Gabriel Agreste. At least, the model part not as much anymore—his face had stopped appearing in magazines around four years ago. He was the same age as Marinette and Alya, so they figured it was because he had entered university. Usually gossips magazines tended to be all over mysteries like this, but he seemed to just disappear completely.

As a model, he always had perfect hair, perfect smiles, perfect clothes, perfect everything. Looking at him now, he seemed much more human.

Half of his shaggy hair was pulled back in a small ponytail, and his bangs probably needed a trim. He wasn’t smiling at a camera, oozing confidence, but focusing on an espresso machine. His uniform was a plain black polo with a mauve apron over it, which was regular for a coffee shop, but not for a famous model. The years had been good to him (his round cheeks were gone and he was definitely taller), but he didn’t exude the grandeur his name inspired. It was so _weird_.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Alya finally breathed. “You’re right.”

“Do you think he’s been working here the past four years?”

“No idea, but you’d think that would get out.” Alya crossed her legs and drummed her fingers on the table, staring out the window. “Finding out the truth would make a really good story…”

Marinette groaned and flopped on the table, pinning Alya’s scheming hand movements under her arm. “Don’t go reporter on me now. We’ve already made a scene!”

There was a tug, and Alya’s hands disappeared. They returned to pat her head as Alya cooed at her.

“Aww, don’t worry, I won’t ruin this moment for you. You’ve still got time to make a good impression on your high school crush.”

Marinette jerked away and swatted at Alya’s hands. “Come on, that was so long ago!”

“True, and you only knew him through a magazine. But, look!” Alya gasped and slapped her hands to her cheeks. “Now he’s right in front of you! Think if you fall again he’ll catch you?”

“Oh my god, you’re the worst.”

“Marinette and Alya!”

They both jerked to attention at their names and looked over. Adrien was leaning against the counter, chin propped in his hand. He waggled the fingers of his free hand at them and smiled.

Marinette had a small moment of inner panic as Alya got to her feet. That grin just got to her—it made him look younger, more like the model she had adored as a teenager. Carefully getting up, Marinette kept her eyes on the floor just to make sure she didn’t trip over anything again.

“Enjoy your drinks, and sorry again about Nino. He’s usually great with customers.” He straightened up when they got to the counter and pushed their drinks towards them.

“Thanks, uh…?” Alya trailed off, eyes searching his apron for a nametag. Marinette wanted to punch her.

“Oh, um, I’m Adrien.” His hands were suddenly stuffed far into his pockets, shoulders brought up to his ears. Like he was trying to make himself small—Marinette knew exactly what that felt like.

“So!” she blurted. “Um, who did that painting in the window?”

Her face definitely felt hot, and that was definitely Alya’s elbow in her side.

“Oh, the cat and boy one? A local artist who goes by Ladybug. They have work in a lot of other coffee shops in the city, but I think we got one of their best.”

He seemed smug all of a sudden, like he was proud of her art in the same way she had been standing outside just minutes ago, and it was doing wonders for her heart. _He likes it_ , she thought and did a little dance in her head.

“Oh, you’ve seen more of their work? Are you a fan?” Alya pressed.

Adrien nodded, and leaned an elbow on the counter. Opening up more. “Definitely. I actually sought out their art dealer to see if we could get something for Papillon.”

Well, that was a surprise. “You did?” She leaned forward, too invested in this new information to care if she gave anything away.

“Yeah, but when they didn’t have anything for me I asked for some contact info, and luckily found out they had just finished _The Bell_.” He hesitated. “That’s the name of the painting, by the way. I’d give you a price if you wanted to buy it, but it’s already been sold.”

That surprised both of them. “It has?” they exclaimed.

Adrien blinked, eyes flickering between the two. “Yeah, sorry. I can give you the artist’s email if you want?”

Marinette turned to stare at her painting, and she vaguely heard Alya answer. Sure, this wasn’t her first time selling a painting, but this was the first time she was unaware of it. Café Papillon didn’t have the full rights to her profit—they agreed on them receiving a fraction as gratitude for displaying it. They were breaking their contract if they took all of the money. She felt her nails dig into her palms. What was with this family anyway? Did they just have it out for her?

“Marinette?”

She turned and stared into Adrien’s eyes. This time, she wasn’t admiring, but searching.

“You sold that painting to someone? You specifically?”

His face fell a little, but she didn’t have time to care if she was scaring him off with her intensity.

“I did. It happened the day we received it.”

Marinette felt like crying. A few seconds more in his green eyes, so falsely innocent and confused looking, and she probably would.

“Okay,” she whispered. “Thank you for the coffee.”

Grabbing at her drink, Marinette cupped it securely in both hands before turning her back on him and hurrying towards the exit. She avoided her painting as she passed. Honestly, it just hurt to look at it now, the same thing that had happened to her derby hat design from long ago. Why couldn’t those damn Agrestes just let her live in peace?

Alya found her ten minutes later at her favorite bench. She sat staring at the fountain and sipping her coffee, more of a habit than anything. The bitterness she felt was all her—the latte was stupidly delicious.

“Hey, girl.” The gentleness she used almost made Marinette cry.

“How could this happen again, Alya? I thought it was a miracle when their café asked for my work. I forced down old memories because it was an amazing opportunity.” The cup dented in her tight grip. “I was so stupid.”

Alya sighed next to her and reached out to pull her in, hand combing through Marinette’s short hair down to the ends just under her chin.

“I know you want to think the worst, but I really think we shouldn’t jump to conclusions on this one. There’s a serious contract this time, and they’d get hell if they broke it. Plus, Adrien seems like a fair guy who appreciates art. I don’t think he’d let his father get away with it.”

The cup in her hand rotated slowly as Alya turned it. Marinette looked down and saw some writing she never noticed.

 _Thanks a latte!_  :)

"I think you’ve got yourself an admirer,” Alya said. She showed her own drink, and it was blank.

“Doesn’t mean he might not be a jerk,” Marinette grumbled. The smiley face was crooked, and she traced the wobbly lines.

“True, but I have a feeling about this one. We’ll get to the bottom of this, Ladybug. I promise.”

Marinette turned her head, hiding in Alya’s hair, and cried.


	2. masters of disguise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alya and Marinette practice their acting, and the identity of the mysterious buyer becomes a little clearer.

Honestly, the two of them should never be left alone. Marinette and Alya’s middle and high school days had been filled with quick plans and lame lies because they always seemed to attract trouble, and even fresh out of college this didn’t change. They liked to think that prepared them more for this moment, but they were probably just getting crazier.

“I’d say you were an evil genius just to make you feel better, but I can’t say that with a straight face. This is your worst idea yet,” Marinette grumbled.

Alya fixed her wig in the mirror, and then found Marinette’s eyes in the reflection. “This is classic reporter stuff, so I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m trained in disguises.”

“Funny, I don’t remember you taking Disguise 101 as a class.”

Alya blinked her eyes a couple times, probably making sure the dark, brown colored contacts were in place, and then rolled her eyes. “That’s because it was a 300-level class. Serious stuff.” She flicked Marinette’s nose as she brushed by her.

“What—you’re lying! I knew your schedules and that was never in there,” Marinette yelled after her. A scoffing noise came from the direction of the kitchen. Marinette crossed her arms and glared at her reflection.

It was definitely weird to see tufts of brown curls peeking out from her beanie rather than black-blue strands. Instead of contacts like Alya she was wearing her reading glasses, which she only had because her long nights of staring at threads and paint started to give her headaches, and she had on a bright red lipstick. She didn’t think she looked much different, but then again she was pretty used to her own face. But she could admit the winged eyeliner and thickened eyebrows did throw her for a loop if she just glanced at herself. This was still a terrible idea.

“Marinette, come on! Their lunch break is almost up. We need to get there before the crowds start wandering in.”

Giving herself one last glare in the mirror—the red beanie, the leather jacket, and light washed jeans—she stalked out of the bathroom. Leaning against the door, Alya jingled her keys like she was calling a butler. Her dark wig and eyes made her look more like her dad, but the hips her blue, empire-waist sundress showed off was all her mother.

“I kind of hate you right now. I look five years younger in sundresses how is this even fair,” Marinette whined.

Alya shrugged. “Sorry about your genetics,” and then cheered, “Let’s go show our crazy!”

Marinette slumped over and hit her forehead against the wall. “I’m so gonna regret this.” With one last sigh, she straightened and brushed her hands against her jeans. “Alright. Bye, Tikki, we’ll be back soon!”

Three chirps came from inside as they locked up and headed for the stairs.

It took about all of their ten minute bus ride for Marinette to truly justify this. They needed more information, and they needed to get it from the source. Calling Nathaniel had been a bust—as far as he knew there had been no offers on _The Bell_ , so they hadn’t bothered him with their dilemma yet. Alya was too suspicious of the whole situation, claiming there was something missing. If the painting had been sold that long ago, then it would have been gone by now. The store had no ownership whatsoever once it was bought.

“This is why you have me,” Alya had said and grinned two days after their visit to Café Papillon. In her hand had been the same wig Marinette was now wearing, but that little thrill she felt when she saw it had long since faded. She wasn’t mysterious, she was a klutz, and this might not work—but they _needed_ to do this. _This is all for me_ , Marinette thought and gave herself a small shake. _I’ll_ make _it work._

And now, standing in front of Café Papillon just two weeks after their last visit, Marinette knew her goal. She snaked her arm around Alya’s waist and looked up at her. “We can do this!”

Alya laughed and curled her arm around Marinette’s slim shoulders, pulling her closer. “You bet, honey bear. Now try your best to act like I’m slammin' and you’re totally into me. Just do whatever you’re comfortable with.”

Marinette laughed and gave her friend a quick hug. “I’m not blind, I know when someone has a nice face. But thanks, I’ll just keep the hug thing going.”

She let go to open the door for Alya, and then they were linked at the hip once again. A short girl with bright pink hair was at the register, which made the two perk up—fresh meat meant fresh information. And a good chance they wouldn’t be recognized.

The worker straightened as they walked up. “Hey, welcome. What can I get for ya?”

“Oh, well actually we’d love to know the price for that painting in the window. It’s so beautiful!” Alya gushed.

Marinette leaned more into Alya, and put her head on her shoulder. “It would be the perfect thing for our new apartment.” She giggled.

The worker seemed to almost jump at their words, and her eyes shifted back and forth between the two. Not disgusted, like they had prepared for in worst situations, but just…super nervous. “Oh. Um. Boss says the painting isn’t available to purchase.”

Marinette frowned. “Available” and “bought” had two very different meanings.

“Soooo, it hasn’t been bought?” Alya asked. She must have caught on too.

“Uhhhhhh, I don’t—“ The worker stumbled and quickly backed away to throw a look down the counter, but she seemed to be the only one upfront. “I don’t think so, but I could be wrong. I’m just a barista, so I just do coffee stuff. Yeah.”

“There’s really no way to buy the painting? We’re willing to barter. We’ve got a good budget between the two of us,” Alya said. She leaned down to rest her head on Marinette’s. “Please? We’re just recently engaged.”

Marinette tried to hide her smile—oh, the sympathy card. No one could resist a cute, happy couple, Alya had lectured when they were first making their plan.

“Oh, man, that’s so cool, I would love to help I just…” the girl trailed off again. She had relaxed a bit, shoulders not so tense, and smiled at the two. _Wow, I guess the cute couple thing does work._

She felt Alya straighten to look the girl in the eye. “Okay, then can we speak to a manager?”

Marinette’s head jerked up at her words, and she gave Alya a panicked glance. She thought the plan had been to weasel as much information out of the staff before taking it to management—they had barely even quizzed her!

The girl looked incredibly relieved to be able to leave. “Sure, give me a minute!”

The second she disappeared behind the back door, Marinette gave Alya a good shake. “Why, Alya? She was nervous! She was hiding something and the cute worked on her! We were so close,” Marinette groaned.

“Oh, save it, that girl wasn’t going to give us anything new. She obviously didn’t know much if she thought the painting was just ‘unavailable.’ Adrien said bought, and he’s more high up here.” She shrugged. “I think we need to suck it up and go straight to the source.”

“You are insane,” Marinette whispered as she once more hugged into Alya’s side. The back doors opened and Adrien Agreste walked out with a smile. She wanted to punch her traitor stomach for the flutters she suddenly felt.

“Hello, ladies. What’s your question about our prize painting?”

“Pr-prize painting?” Marinette squeaked.

“Uh…” He seemed taken aback, and gave her a wide-eyed look. “Yes?”

“Oh, ignore my fiancée she’s a little bonkers about art.” Alya patted Marinette’s head and gave her a quick get-it-together glare. “We’re just wondering about the price on that painting. We think it would be a wonderful engagement present to ourselves.”

“Well then I’m very sorry to disappoint such a lovely couple. That painting is currently being displayed only for Café Papillon’s benefit. It was bought by the shop in a way.” He had clasped his hands behind his back and straightened while talking—like he was presenting a speech. “I would invite you both to take a look around our café. Everything else is for sale by the artist, displayed through us.”

“What makes this one different?” Marinette blurted. She cringed a bit at the delivery, but Alya patted her on the head— _good question_ , the pat seemed to say.

If it was possible, Adrien now stood even taller, spine straight. And was his face red?

“Well, um, have you heard of Ladybug?”

They nodded and he gave them a blinding smile. “Amazing, aren’t they? The mysterious identity would be appealing enough, but their paintings are just so…moving. Alive.” His eyes were suddenly transfixed on the front window, which gave Marinette plenty of time to admire the green of his eyes. His iris was like a light, shallow pond in the middle of a forest. His golden lashes the marigolds spread around it. Damn this young man and his paintable face.

He turned to address them, and Marinette once more found herself in a staring contest with Adrien Agreste. He seemed just as startled as last time, and she quickly looked away before he could recognize her. Fat chance that would happen, but it still made her nervous.

“Anyway, the Agrestes are fans of their work. Thus, it’s kind of off-limits.” He smiled sheepishly. “Sorry about that.”

Marinette looked up at Alya, who had narrowed her eyes, as if searching for something more. While that happened, she glanced back at the window too, wondering just how one painting could get them in this mess. And then she suddenly remembered glimpsing the other thing hanging there on their way in. Marinette whipped her head back and interrupted whatever conversation had been getting started.

“You’re hiring a baker?”

Alya and Adrien both looked at her, Alya with a slightly more pissed off look. She must have been getting into reporter mode.

“Yeah, we are. Are you interested?”

“No, but I have a friend who used to work at one and needs a job. Do you, uh,” she flicked her eyes up to Alya’s in a sudden fit of nervousness, “have an application I could give her?”

“Yeah, of course!” Adrien scrambled behind the counter for a bit before finally pulling out some papers. He hesitated handing it over and gave her a wary look. “She’s not some fancy baker who will demand enormous pay, will she? We’re just a coffee shop. Nothing too special.”

Marinette laughed. “No, she just likes to bake for people.”

He nodded. “Good. Too many big shot bakers tried to bully their way into a larger pay just because the Agreste name is tied to this place.” There was a pause as Adrien’s eyes widened dramatically. “Not that we aren’t doing well! It’s just this is a small part of the Agreste company. But we do have money. Lots.”

“Yeah, sure,” Marinette said, confused. She took the application from him and retreated back to Alya. “I’ll give her this and she’ll probably have it in before next week.”

“Perfect! Sounds good. Awesome.” Adrien was blushing at this point and had his hands stuffed deep in his apron pockets. “Was, uh, there anything else you needed today?”

“Nope,” Alya said, popping the word. “But you’ve been a great help. Have a wonderful day.”

“You, too. And congratulations!”

The two giggled and waved at him in thanks as they exited the shop. Once they were a safe distance away, Alya turned Marinette around to face her.

“You. Are. A. Genius!”

Marinette laughed. “Well, I do need a job.”

Twenty minutes later they were finally back to their apartment, out of their disguises, and Alya laid on the couch while Marinette threw herself to the floor.

“What was I thinking—I can’t work for the Agrestes! They already rejected me once, they probably have my name on a ‘Don’t Ever Hire’ list,” she moaned, face squished against their carpet. She felt little taps on her back as Tikki jumped around, happily chirping and whistling.

“I dunno. I have a feeling Adrien’s the one in charge of Café Papillon.”

Marinette shifted to her side, and Tikki flew up to land on her hip. “Really? Why?”

Alya tapped her chin and shrugged. “I honestly don’t think Gabriel Agreste even has time to check on the café. And Adrien talks pretty confidently about the painting being reserved for the Agrestes, yet he mentioned how he was the one who contacted Ladybug that first time we went. It just makes sense.”

“I guess…” Marinette reached down the stroke Tikki’s bright-red feathers, and received some happy whistles as thanks. “Well, I guess it won’t hurt to try. Might as well get some more money while trying to convince Adrien he can’t just keep _The Bell_ to himself if he won’t pay for it. That would have been three months rent,” she grumbled.

“Hey, at least you’ll have lots of time to interrogate him. Your parents taught you so well you could probably make all their pastries in your sleep!”

“True.” She sighed and reached out her hand for Tikki. The parrot happily hopped onto her finger as Marinette got off the floor. “Guess I have an application to fill out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't get into it much, but Tikki is a Crimson Rosella. They're very cute! And I learned a bit more about France after the last chapter and how a lot of universities only go three years not four like the US. So technically they would be graduated for the timeline in my head. Also, a lot of shops close a couple hours for lunch, which is what Alya meant towards the beginning of the chapter.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed! I'm also on tumblr as miraculousandcute. :)


	3. freak outs and brownies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marinette has some trouble processing and interviews with an Agreste.

Marinette had mostly kept it cool the past month and a half with the return of the Agrestes in her life. When she got the email requesting art, she went with it. This is exactly what her fake name was for. Their first café visit fiasco had been pretty bad, but Marinette had managed to quietly cry it out. Turning in her application—more like stuffing it in the hands of that Nino guy and choking out “Please give this to your manager I’m in a hurry have a nice day”—had apparently been the final straw. It was a good three days of worrying about the follow up call until she snapped. Marinette was good at blocking bad memories and ignoring them in favor of thinking positive. But this time, it was too similar.

This time, her freak out was to curl into a ball on the kitchen floor where she had a good vantage point of the box under the couch. It held most of her sewing supplies that hadn’t been touched in two and a half years. A spool of thread and one sole needle in a pin cushion were on her dresser for rare times; a stuffed bird friend for Tikki, some oven mitts for her parents, a throw pillow for Alya. Even though sewing didn’t make her happy the way it once did, she was terrified of losing the muscle memory. Too many years of sweat and blood had gone into her broken dream. She let out a shaky breath, trying to remind herself to breathe.

And then stared and clenched her knees to her chest and thought how sometimes the quiet freak outs were the worst, when it was all truly bottled up in her head with no exit in sight.

In her first year of university Marinette had applied for the highly sought after intern position at _Gabriel_. She was a full semester in and feeling confident enough that even the strange application process couldn’t get to her. Making a derby hat was new, but she was a fast learner. The designing process took shorter than expected thanks to the purchase of Tikki, which inspired her feather motif. All of her love and ability went into her design, and she could still remember the excitement she felt during every process. There was a lull of uncertainty with the quality of her fabric, but she had confidence that her artistry would shine through. It was a beautiful hat, and she packed it up with all her love and luck stitched into every thread, especially in her golden signature.

Her finger traced swirls on kitchen floor, recreating the grand flourish of her name over and over and over.

The wait hadn’t been very long. Two weeks later Marinette was called in for an interview, and she had arrived a full twenty minutes early just so she could prepare herself. She paced and practiced and smoothed her worries just to walk into Gabriel Agreste’s office to see two very similar hats on his desk and Chloe Bourgeois barely hiding a smirk behind her hand.

Marinette pressed her forehead into the cool floor—she could still feel the way her stomach dropped and her throat closed.

It was exactly like collège and lycée. Chloe would go to the principal with a complaint, Marinette would end up with some exaggerated punishment, and there was no way to ever avoid it. What Chloe wanted, Chloe got. _Not my design_ , she remembered thinking. _Anything but this_.

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng, I presume.” His voice had been deeper than it was on TV. Or maybe that was the disappointment and disgust she swore she could hear in her name.

“Yes, sir.” She had told herself she would come in her confident and together, but now her voice was small, insignificant.

“Sit down.”

When she took a seat before Gabriel Agreste, Marinette tried her best to avoid the smile coming from the person in the chair next to her.

“This is your design.” His hand swept to the left, where her gold thread glinted. “And this is Chloe Bourgeois’s.” Marinette forced herself to look more closely at Chloe’s hat, and the little hope she had at the sight of her signature withered into nothing.

Chloe’s work had an obvious high-quality to it. It shined like silk, and the feathers she picked were gold instead of pigeon ivory. There was no signature on the copy. Instead, a delicate silver pattern replaced it. They were different, but too similar to be a coincidence—and Marinette had no famous name to protect herself.

Marinette curled into herself just a little more until the joints in her fingers seemed to go numb.

The rest of the meeting was a blur of scenes that suffocated her every time she dared think it. She remembered a stinging pain behind her eyes when Chloe tossed her hat aside, her fingers shaking as Gabriel Agreste scolded her, and relief, out of everything, because Chloe played the martyr and begged him not to have Marinette blacklisted. Chloe’s generosity was praised, Marinette was threatened to never set foot in Gabriel Agreste’s presence again, and the world moved on as if a young woman’s dream hadn’t been swept aside and stepped on. Chloe won the internship, and then quit a mere three months later because it was too much work. Sometimes that hurt more than anything.

Marinette stayed in that moment, let her anger and disappointment and despair simmer down until she left her mind and felt the hard floor pressing into her cheek. She must have dozed off because there was a blanket over her and a bird cuddled into her neck. The blanket slid off her shoulder as she sat up and took Tikki into her hands, nuzzling her head.

“Alya?” she tried, and her voice was a little scratchy.

Movement caught her eye, and she looked down the hallway to see Alya sticking her head out of her bedroom.

“You feeling better?”

Marinette settled back down as Alya sat in front of her. They both scratched Tikki, still snoozing in the cocoon of her hands.

“Do you think I could have stopped it? Stood up for myself and proved it was my design that was stolen?”

Alya sighed. “No, I really don’t. Chloe is too good at manipulation and destroying people’s confidence. I’m just glad you had painting to fall back on when sewing got too hard.” She smiled and patted Marinette’s head. “Your artistic talent would have been so wasted.”

“Thanks.” Marinette set Tikki on the blanket and then flopped onto her back. “I really need to get it together.”

“I’ll say. Especially when you see your missed call.”

Tikki made a startled squawk as Marinette jerked up from the floor. “Oh my god. It’s not.”

“Maybe, maybe not. It was an unsaved number. But there’s only one call like that you’re waiting on.”

She made a squeak, similar to Tikki, as Alya got up to retrieve the cell phone. Marinette’s hands were shaking, so Alya opened up her voicemail. A familiar voice filled the space.

“Hi, Ms. Dupain-Cheng, this is Adrien Agreste from Café Papillon. We received your application, and we would love for you to come in for an interview. Call me back at this number and we can set up a time. Thank you and have a nice day.”

Little taps were the only sound heard in the kitchen as Tikki pushed her beak against the phone screen. Alya and Marinette stared at each other, waiting to see what the other would do.

“Yay?” Alya ventured.

“I think I’m gonna hurl.”

It took a good twenty minutes for Marinette to calm down, convince herself this wasn’t an ambush, and set up an appointment for tomorrow afternoon. Adrien had sounded cheerful, which gave her some comfort. There was nothing in his voice that reminded her of his father. That comfort carried her over until she walked into Café Papillon’s doors, giving her painting a desperate look as if asking it for good luck, and looked up to see Nino waving at her.

“Hey, crazy chick,” he practically yelled.

“I’m sorry, what? Why?” Marinette took a step back. _Never mind this was all a mistake why was she here_ —

“You shoved an application at me and then basically sprinted out of the shop. It was definitely memorable.” Nino shrugged and lifted a section of the counter. “Follow me. I’ll take you to Adrien’s office.”

She nodded and clutched her bag to her chest as she stepped into the employee only section. Wow, that was a lot of syrup choices. Nino led her through the back door and down a hallway to a door simply labeled “Boss Man” with a piece of paper.

He knocked on the door, yelling out, “Yo, man, the baker interview is here!”

A muffled, “Coming!” came from behind it.

The door opened, and a somewhat haggled looking Adrien Agreste appeared. Half of his hair was pulled back into a small, neat ponytail, and the rest was going every which way. His bangs were especially messy as they almost hung in his eyes, and he still had on a dirty apron. Nino snorted at the sight.

“So ‘just closing your eyes’ turned into a nap, huh?”

“Nino.” Adrien glared at him and smoothed his hair. “Go watch the front.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he patted Marinette on the back as he left. “Good luck!”

Adrien shook his head and motioned for her to come into the office.

“Good afternoon, Ms. Dupain-Cheng. Please sit down.”

She fidgeted and smoothed her dark blue business dress as she sat. Adrien settled himself behind his desk and smiled at her.

“So, you grew up in a bakery?” He glanced down some papers. “Tom & Sabine Boulangerie Patisserie on 12 Gotlib Street. That’s right by Collège Françoise Dupont, isn’t it?”

“Oh!” Marinette forgot her nervousness for a moment. “Yes, I went to that school. You know it?”

“I had a friend go there and sometimes we would hang out after she got out of classes. I wonder if we ever stopped by your bakery…”

His eyes wandered away along with his thoughts, and Marinette took the moment to take a deep breath. She’s had job interviews before—this one is no different. At least she could try to convince herself of that. Bringing out the paper bag, she set it on the desk.

“I brought some samples for you to test.”

Adrien’s eyes were now locked on the bag, and she could see his nostrils flaring as he took in the smell. It was hard to fight back her smirk, but she managed—truly, there was nothing like the aroma of her family’s baked goods.

“Oh, wow, I’m around pastries every day but this smell _amazing_.”

She opened up the bag and grabbed a cookie wrapped in a napkin. “Here. These are our famous almond snickerdoodles.” Adrien hesitated and her hand retreated. “I’m sorry, do you have an allergy?”

“No! No, sorry it’s a habit.” The cookie was snatched out of her hand, and he quickly nibbled on it. “I…avoid too many carbs,” he muttered around crumbs.

_He’s on a diet? But he’s already so skinny_ , she thought glancing at his slim wrist. But then she remembered. The messy hair and dirty apron had made her completely forget that Adrien Agreste was once a highly sought model…that she had had a massive crush on.

Marinette cleared her throat and tried to do the same for her head. “I made those this morning. It’s a family recipe, so I wouldn’t be able to sell them here. But I’m very used to trying out and improving new recipes.”

“Would you be willing to do a demonstration then?” Adrien was wiping his fingers on the napkin, looking very happy with the cookie, which confused her.

“Was the cookie not good?”

“Delicious. I’d just like to see you in action if that’s okay.” The smile that followed his words was almost sheepish and shy—wasn’t he supposed to be the confident one here? But it did make her feel more at ease to be on equal ground.

“Then sure, I’d be happy to.” Marinette smiled and looked at his apron. “Do you have an extra one of those?”

Adrien grinned. One apron, recipe, and change of scenery later, Marinette was deciding whether or not she wanted to add cinnamon or caramel to the brownies.

“Our first chef made this recipe. It’s a customer favorite, but switching it up some days wouldn’t hurt. Anything in mind?”

She heard him come up behind her. He leaned against the table, facing her—apparently he had no problem being close. The brownies would come out terribly if he kept that up. Marinette took a deep breath to calm herself, and then turned to copy his posture, about a foot of air between their noses.

“Would you prefer cinnamon or caramel?”

Wide eyes stared at her, and while his torso leaned back, she saw the hand at his side lift up towards her.

“Do you model for Ladybug?” The words were rushed, and he bit his lip immediately after as if he regretted them.

“What?” she gasped. “I—no! I’m not a model who, what…” She twirled around and walked over to the fridge, yanking it open. The cold air chilled her skin, and she just knew she was beat red. Grabbing some eggs, she closed the door softly and looked over.

Adrien had both arms braced on the table, eyes closed. He looked up when she took a step closer.

“Blue eyes,” he said. “She did a painting called _Blue Eyes_ and they look exactly like yours. I know lots of people have the same eye color as you, and probably the same shape, but for some reason yours just remind me of it. I’m sorry for surprising you.”

Marinette remembered that painting—it was the only self-portrait she felt comfortable selling. The sole distinguishable thing had been her eyes. The face and hair was a swirl of gray and black, with just enough detailed strokes to make out a hazy facial structure beneath it that she hadn’t even modeled after her own.

“Well, I’m sorry for disappointing you,” she finally answered.

“Please, don’t be. You have very beautiful eyes.” He smiled and held out his hand. She wondered if she was supposed to take it and if he would draw her in close, but then his gaze switched to the eggs in her hand. “May I?”

“Oh. Yeah.”

She made sure their fingers didn’t touch as he took the carton.

“So. Cinnamon or caramel?” she tried again.

“Cinnamon. I think that’d make an egg-cellent brownie.”

Marinette groaned. “You did not.”

Adrien just grinned as he set out the eggs needed for the recipe. “The time is ticking, Ms. Dupain-Cheng. You’ve impressed me so far but let’s see if you can improve this recipe.”

She grinned and pulled up her sleeves. “No problem.” Keeping her hands busy would probably be the best way for her to relax during this interview, and she cheered silently at her good luck.

Marinette went to work mixing the dry ingredients first. Adrien hoovered over her, and if she didn’t want him to hire her she would have elbowed him in the stomach.

“So. Why do you want to work for Café Papillon?”

The spoon stopped for a moment as she thought. “I’ve always loved the atmosphere you have in the shop. It’s warm and comforting and I would be honored to help continue that for your customers.”

He muttered, “Egg-cellent answer,” and she bit her lip to stop the smile.

“Where’s your cinnamon?”

“Oh!” He moved away, rummaged through something, and placed a glass container next to the bowl. “What’s your weakness and strength?”

Marinette sprinkled in some cinnamon, mixed it, and moved on to the eggs. “My weakness is my competitiveness. Sometimes I choose winning over compromising, which I’ve been working on since collège. Lots of group projects. My greatest strength is my determination. I can do anything I set my mind to, and I’m a quick learner.”

She cracked the eggs and mixed them in a bowl, adding a splash of milk. That went into the dry ingredients along with some vegetable oil. Adrien paced behind her.

“Where do you see yourself in five years? You have a management degree. Are you going to open up your own shop or take over your parent’s bakery?”

“Um, I was thinking of starting my own business. I think I'll break away from food service, but I haven’t decided exactly what I want to focus on.” She paused in her mixing to grab the pan Adrien had set there. “If it’s possible I want my business to benefit the community. I just haven’t found the perfect way to do that yet.”

As she poured the brownie mix into the pan, Adrien came over to lean against the table again.

“How will Café Papillon prepare you for that?”

He followed her to the oven. It must have beeped that it was ready sometime during his questions, so she slid the brownies right in.

“Café Papillon, from what I’ve seen, has a steady customer flow.” She grabbed a timer as she turned to face him. His arms were crossed as he watched her. “It will prepare me for managing my own business. Lots can go wrong when you’re baking, and I won’t have my parents to fall back on. This is about independence and knowing my strengths while improving my weaknesses. I’m sure I can learn a lot from your café.”

Marinette smiled, placed the timer on the counter, and mirrored his crossed arms. “We have twenty-five minutes.”

Adrien nodded and a slow grin stretched across his features. “Very impressive, Ms. Dupain-Cheng. Honestly, I think you’re a perfect fit, and I’d like to extend an offer right now.” His posture straightened. “The hours would most likely be around the same as your family’s bakery—early mornings and done in the afternoon. We can offer you 9 euros an hour.”

He seemed especially interested in her reaction to that, but she kept her face blank. It was a pretty normal pay for a café job.

“Would you like to be our new baker?”

Marinette grinned. “It’d be my pleasure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's Day! It's not midnight here yet so it works. I hope this has answered some questions and fulfilled some fluff needs (but unfortunately a job interview has to be professional-ish so I couldn't go overboard). Also I have no idea how job interviews go in France so I labeled it after my own experiences. Thank you for reading! Comments are very much appreciated. I'm also on tumblr as miraculousandcute.


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